Chapter 2 - THE FIRST NANNY
The emergency department smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee.
Christmas decorations had been taped to the nurses’ station, but nobody in our room felt like celebrating.
Ava slept beneath two blankets.
Charlotte had an IV in her arm.
Mia was eating applesauce slowly, as if someone might take it from her.
Ruby refused to let go of my hand.
Dr. Allison Sloane stood across from me with a chart pressed against her chest.
Her face told me the truth before she spoke.
“All four girls are underweight.”
I swallowed.
“How badly?”
“Enough to concern me.”
My grip tightened around Ruby’s fingers.
“They were healthy six months ago.”
“I believe you.”
That somehow made it worse.
Dr. Sloane continued carefully.
“There are signs of prolonged inadequate nutrition. Nothing suggests they were without food entirely, but their intake was clearly not appropriate for children their age.”
I looked at Mia.
She had finished half the applesauce and was hiding the rest beneath a napkin.
The doctor followed my eyes.
“That behavior concerns me too.”
“What behavior?”
“Food guarding.”
My chest tightened.
“She’s saving it.”
“Yes.”
“For later.”
“Yes.”
I looked away.
The doctor lowered her voice.
“Mr. Callahan, children learn behaviors like that when food becomes uncertain.”
I pressed my thumb against my forehead.
I wanted someone to blame.
Bianca.
Greer.
The nannies.
Anyone.
But every time I looked at my daughters, the same truth came back.
I had left.
Six months.
I had missed birthdays, school events, nightmares, scraped knees, bedtime stories.
I had told myself that building a bigger company would secure their future.
Meanwhile, I had stopped looking closely enough at their present.
A knock came at the door.
Detective Elena Hart entered.
She was in her early forties, dressed in dark jeans and a winter coat instead of a uniform.
I immediately recognized the name from Hannah’s note.
“Mr. Callahan?”
“Yes.”
She held out her identification.
“Detective Hart. Placer County Major Crimes.”
I handed her Hannah’s paper.
Her expression tightened.
“Where did you get this?”
“My daughter.”
Hart looked at Ava.
“Hannah Parker gave it to her.”
She slowly folded the note.
“When?”
“Before Hannah disappeared.”
Hart glanced toward the hallway.
“We should speak privately.”
Ruby tightened her grip.
I crouched.
“I’ll be right outside.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
I had broken enough promises by accident.
I wasn’t going to break another.
Detective Hart and I stood near a vending machine down the hall.
“What do you mean Hannah disappeared?” I asked.
Hart studied me.
“You really don’t know.”
“No.”
She seemed to decide whether she believed me.
Then she opened a small notebook.
“Hannah Parker contacted me on December second.”
My stomach dropped.
Three weeks earlier.
“She said she worked in your home and had concerns about the welfare of your children.”
“Why didn’t anyone contact me?”
“She asked us not to contact the household until she had more evidence.”
“You should have called me.”
“She believed your communications were being monitored.”
I stared at her.
“By who?”
“She wasn’t sure.”
“Bianca?”
“Possibly.”
“Greer?”
Hart didn’t answer directly.
“Hannah missed a scheduled meeting with me on December eighth.”
“And nobody looked for her?”
“We did.”
“Where is she?”
“We don’t know.”
I stepped closer.
“You’re telling me a woman who worked inside my house tried to report abuse, disappeared, and I’m hearing this three weeks later?”
“I’m telling you we opened an investigation that same day.”
I stopped.
Opened an investigation.
While I had been in Singapore negotiating expansion contracts and drinking $200 bottles of wine with investors.
My daughters had been hungry.
Hannah had been frightened.
And police had been investigating my house.
“What did Hannah tell you?”
Hart glanced around before answering.
“She believed money was being taken from your daughters’ accounts.”
My jaw tightened.
“She also claimed clothing, jewelry, electronics, and household items were being removed from the residence and sold.”
“Sold?”
“She photographed boxes being loaded into vehicles.”
“By Bianca?”
“Sometimes.”
“And Greer?”
“She mentioned him.”
I remembered the blood in the abandoned car.
“Was the blood his?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Where is Bianca?”
“Still being interviewed.”
“Is she under arrest?”
“Not yet.”
My anger flared.
“How much evidence do you need?”
“A lot more than anger and a suspicious bank document if I want charges that survive court.”
I hated that she was right.
Hart closed her notebook.
“There’s someone else you should speak with.”
“Who?”
“Leah Morales.”
My pulse jumped.
“She quit.”
“No.”
One word.
That was all it took.
“No?”
“She didn’t quit.”
Hart gave me an address.
A small motel outside Truckee.
Leah had been there for nine days.
Police had helped relocate her after she contacted them.
I stared at the address.
“Why would Bianca lie about her quitting?”
“I think you should ask Leah.”
My mother arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later.
Margaret Callahan was sixty-eight and five feet four, but I had watched CEOs become nervous when she was angry.
The second she saw my daughters, tears filled her eyes.
“What happened?”
I couldn’t answer.
She looked at me.
Then at the girls.
Then back at me.
“What happened, Owen?”
“I left them with the wrong person.”
She slapped me.
Not hard.
But enough.
The room went silent.
My mother’s hand trembled.
“You left them with someone you barely knew.”
“I know.”
“You stopped bringing them to see me.”
“Bianca said traveling upset them.”
“And you believed her.”
I had no defense.
My mother looked at the girls again.
Then she whispered, “Go fix it.”
So I did.
Detective Hart drove me to the motel herself.
Leah Morales opened the door with a chain still attached.
When she saw me, she started crying.
“Mr. Callahan.”
“Leah.”
“I tried to call you.”
My stomach turned.
“How many times?”
She looked ashamed.
“At least twenty.”
I pulled out my phone.
“I never got anything.”
“I know.”
She let us inside.
The room was small.
A suitcase sat open on one bed.
A laptop and three folders covered the other.
Leah picked up her phone.
“I called your office. I emailed you. I left messages with Mrs. Callahan.”
“Bianca?”
“She told me you didn’t want to be bothered with domestic problems.”
I closed my eyes.
Leah continued.
“Then your number stopped working.”
I checked her phone.
She had my old number saved correctly.
Blocked.
Somebody had blocked her from my phone.
I remembered leaving my phone at home during a short trip in October because I had damaged the charging port.
Bianca had taken it to have it repaired.
“How did you leave?”
I asked.
Leah sat down.
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Callahan fired me.”
“Why?”
“Because I found Ruby eating from the kitchen trash.”
My legs almost gave out.
Leah covered her face.
“She was hungry. Bianca had told the chef not to feed the girls outside scheduled meals, and some days the scheduled meals didn’t happen.”
“There was a chef?”
“Until September.”
“What happened to him?”
“Fired.”
“Why?”
“He argued about the children.”
Detective Hart wrote rapidly.
Leah opened one of the folders.
Inside were photographs.
My daughters wearing clothes two sizes too small.
Boxes filled with their winter jackets.
Ava standing near a locked pantry.
Bianca carrying shopping bags.
And Martin Greer entering my house at 11:46 p.m.
I stared at the image.
“What was he doing there?”
“I don’t know.”
Leah slid another photograph toward me.
Greer and Bianca stood beside his car.
His hand was around her waist.
They were kissing.
My stomach twisted.
Not because Bianca had cheated.
That suddenly seemed almost meaningless.
It was because Martin Greer had introduced us.
Two years after Rachel died, Greer had invited me to a charity dinner.
Bianca had been seated beside me.
He had told me she was kind.
Stable.
Wonderful with children.
It hadn’t been an accident.
Leah reached for her laptop.
“There’s more.”
She opened an email.
It was from Hannah.
Sent December seventh.
The night before she disappeared.
The subject line contained only two words.
FOR OWEN.
Attached was a photograph.
A storage facility.
Unit 318.
Below the photograph Hannah had written:
If I don’t make it to Detective Hart tomorrow, tell Owen everything he needs is inside. Bianca doesn’t know I found the key. Greer does.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then I saw the final sentence.
And tell Owen I’m sorry. I found something about Rachel’s accident.
